


The First Mr.Dahling

by DraculaLeftMeAtTheBar



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, saloonatics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraculaLeftMeAtTheBar/pseuds/DraculaLeftMeAtTheBar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name on the wanted posters was sometimes spelled incorrectly. They spelled it like “Darling” but the man that sits in the cell, directly facing Sheriff Thompson, is anything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Mr.Dahling

The name on the wanted posters was sometimes spelled incorrectly. They spelled it like “Darling” but the man that sits in the cell, directly facing Sheriff Thompson, is anything but. Tord Dahling: A Norwegian man, in his late 20s, had been causing the worst sort of trouble. Dahling is the orchestrator of over 80 armed robberies as well as arson and man-slaughter. He made the unfortunate mistake of entering Sheriff Thompson’s town. He was caught attempting to rob the local bank but Thompson managed to fire a bullet at Dahling’s hand. At the sound of that gun hitting floor, Thompson didn’t waste a second charging in and slamming the son of a bitch to the ground.

The bastard managed to escape the hands of justice for 4 years but now he’s to hang tomorrow morning. It is late at night and Thompson refuses to leave the tricky bastard alone for even a second. He was the only one brave enough to do it and his deputy was recovering from being shot in the arm. Tord Dahling was described as a charming kind of man and that’s probably where the name confusion came from: Ladies loved to call him “Mr. Darling.” Easily forgetting that behind the smile and grey eyes resided the soul of a murder.

Tord sits on the bench, cradling his bandaged hand. He’s too calm for someone about to die in less than 24 hours. Thompson isn’t scared of him - no way, no how - but he’s a bit on edge. The only thing that separates Thompson and this monster are the newly replaced bars. Sheriff Thompson will not have any rust for a con to easily file at. Who would have thought that Tord was disguised as the town bartender this whole time. How many times has this man given a room to Thompson when the Sheriff was too drunk to head to his own respective home. It’s a little heart-breaking: he’s always felt like he could trust a man that could pour his drink right. Guess this time he’s wrong. He also feels really stupid but that’s something he’ll refuse to admit.

Tord's eyes are cast down as if in mediation, maybe praying before they finally put him down. Like a rabid dog. As he was being dragged out of the bank, Dahling tried to flash his pearly whites and bat his lashes at Thompson. It all failed to convince the Sheriff to let him go. Then, in such a strange manner, he tried to get personal, “I thought we were friends? Won’t you miss me when I’m gone?” Thompson made sure his deputy was alright before knocking Dahling out with one punch. Since he woke up in his little cell, he’s been talking absolute nonsense, “Who’s gonna have your drink ready when you get off duty every night? Or have your bed ready? Don’t tell me it’s over just like this!” Thompson pointed his pistol straight at Dahling and told him to sit down. The Norwegian man did so and eventually shut his mouth. Thompson felt like he could finally relax. But not too much. Dahling was the kind of criminal you never underestimate.

Thompson is actually very tired though. He slept very little the night before; He thought maybe someone was outside his door but found nothing every time he got up to check. Every time he went back to bed, the shuffling on the wood of his porch would start up again. Then Dahling’s sudden appearance was worth at least three bank robberies. Tord did it alone and took out the teller and his deputy’s arm. It lasted 5 hours. Now, he’s exhausted. His feet are propped up on his desk and he crosses his arms. Thompson doesn’t want to give Dahling the impression that he makes him nervous in anyway so he keeps this relaxed pose. Tord, based on the stories that Thompson has heard, is the kind of man that uses even a moment of hesitation or fear to his advantage.

Thompson feels his eyes closing though and his brain start to convince him that Dahling is locked up good and tight. There’s no way he could possibly escape. The gun on his desk gives him a sense of security. If Dahling tries to escape then his execution will come sooner than he expected. The bliss of falling asleep takes over and everything goes black for a second but Thompson jolts awake instantly. He looks up and his prisoner has this mischievous smile on his face that doesn’t sit well with Thompson. How much time would Tord need to pull off an escape? Thompson prays to the good lord that he wasn’t asleep for more than a second.

“Tired Thompson?” Tord practically purrs when he speaks and it makes Thompson feel sick. This is the most uncomfortable he’s been in his entire life. Tord isn’t a scary looking guy but knowing the kind of torture he’s done to people is what makes Thompson so…uneasy. Corpses found at the bottom of drinking wells after a week, men found hanged with their guts out, whole towns gone to anarchy in one night. He heard that Tord once tied a man, naked, to a horse and had it drag the guy across the scorching desert. When they found him, the skin of his back had been seared off by the rocks and sand and he begged to die. He was out there for 5 days.

He doesn’t understand how people could be so bewitched by such a vile person. 

Then he remembers how the bartender was the one to listen to all his troubles before his deputy had arrived. Thompson scoffs, “You better keep your mouth shut Dahling. Unless you wanna die now.” Tord’s smile does not waver, “You’ve been the Sheriff for such a long time. I think you deserve a nice break every once in a while right?” Tord’s shoulders start to shake as he chuckles, “I’ll be good. Promise.” The index finger of his uninjured hand comes up and Tord makes a cross over his heart and finishes, “Or hope to die!”

“You’ll get your wish tomorrow,” Thompson leans back.

Grey eyes move around the dirty holding cell, studying every inch. “Not gonna find a way out-“ Thompson points to the bars, “- I rebuilt that cell myself, with a jack ass like you in mind.” Tord’s eyes go wide and the smile goes from mischievous to…elated. “You built this? For me? How sweet!” Tord clasps his hands and presses them against his cheek. He bats his lashes again and the Sheriff rolls his good eye. Tord is staring at him intensely and Thompson battles the instinct to squirm. He can’t wait till sunrise. He can’t wait till he’s not alone with this guy anymore. Then he can go drink…just not at that bar for a while.

Tord breaks the gaze and looks down with an expression of knowing something that Thompson doesn’t. His entire existence makes Thompson’s skin crawl. Those grey eyes come back up and Tord says, “I like you Sheriff Thompson-“ said man doesn’t even blink “-I wonder why you don’t have anybody to come home to. Handsome man like you…Don’t you think it is time to settle down?” How long till daylight breaks? Tord looks into Thompson’s good eye as he speaks, “You know I let you catch me, right?” 

Thompson doesn’t say a word, he regrets engaging with Dahling in the first place. Tord looks down at his hand and fiddles with a ring on it…it’s on the wedding finger. “I’d like-“ a loving expression takes over Tord’s face “-to tell you about my first love.” Thompson really doesn't care. He’s heard the same sob story, from different crooks, over and over again: How a woman hurting them turned them to a life of crime or how they do it all for their poor little wife. They usually aren’t actually married but this is the first time he’s seen a criminal with a wedding band though.

Tord ignores the uninterested expression on Sheriff Thompson’s face and continues, “I met him when I first came to this country.” Thompson raises a brow. Tord was married to a man? Well, that’s also another first. “His real first name was Billy-“ Tord says the name like he’s tasting something that’s gone rotten “-….but I’d rather not remember it…so I always refer to him as the ‘First Mr. Dahling.” Tord stops smiling and he’s not looking at Thompson directly anymore. Like someone flipped a switch. Tord’s eyes scan the floor as he searches through the fog of memories and tries to recount the events to the man before him. Those eyes narrow, “We obviously could not be officially married but we had a little ceremony in September…it lasted till November.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Thompson chuckles. So Tord’s charm and wit had an expiration date after all.

Tord doesn’t join Thompson in the laugh, “He ran off when I was out one day. I came back and my lovely boy had packed up and left. No warning.” Tord’s eyes move up to meet Thompson’s again. The Sheriff doesn’t sympathize with him at all. Tord pushes his gaze back down, “I followed him across every plain, over every mountain, through every town, Thompson.” Tord’s eyebrows knit together as he begins to seethe, “I begged for him to come back to me, . BEGGED.” Tord shuts his eyes, “I don’t beg for anything. Ever! But he still wouldn’t return.” Tord’s eyes open and he goes back to fiddling with the ring, the scowl fitting the man better than any previous expression he wore before.

“I started drinking more in a day than you do in a week,” Thompson ignores the jab at his alcoholism and actually starts to become invested in the story, “I didn’t want to think about how much I loved him. It killed me to see him so close yet out of my reach. I loved him…so much.” 

“Ya beat ‘im or something?”

“I NEVER laid a hand on my Billy!” Tord is offended as if that’s the worst thing he’s been accused of.

Tord glares at a lone spot on the ground, as if it were the bane of his existence. Like he’s seeing Billy’s face right there on the cement floor. Sheriff Thompson tries not to show it but he’s actually invested in the story. He’s never dealt with someone like Tord Dahling before. At the same time, the Sheriff hopes that the story will end soon because there’s something in Tord’s eyes that he doesn’t like. It’s something that seems to be escalating.

“One day, before the sun rose, I got so drunk that I went up to the place that he was staying in. I yelled to him, ‘You’re gonna come home with me or they’re going to start calling you the LATE Mr. Dahling!’…but he would not come down.”

“So you were open about it?”

“About what?” Tord snaps, not appreciating being interrupted.

“Being gay-“

“Shhhhhhh….let me finish, Sheriff.” That shush reminds Thompson of a rattle snake giving a warning. It feels appropriate for Tord. Everything he does is like a serpent.

Thompson feels an eerie tension take over. Tord is shaking with rage and he’s squeezing his hands into fists so tightly that the scrape from the bullet starts to bleed again. That’s right…it was just a scrape. Tord was actually perfectly fine….

“I brought my gun with me…I yelled again, ‘Come out or I’m coming in Mr. Dahling!”

Tord’s eyes get wider, “I broke open the door-“ the blood is dripping to the floor, “-I found him hiding in the closet-“ Tord’s eyes don’t blink as they shift up to look at Thompson like some kind of wild animal about to charge “-I don’t recall what happened next…” Tord shakes his head “-the next thing I knew I was walking around in a forest…” Tord’s hand open quickly and the con watches as the white cloth of the bandage blooms red.

Thompson’s arms go from crossed to discreetly hugging himself. His palms are sweating and the room feels like it just got smaller. There isn’t enough space in-between them. Something doesn’t feel right. Tord swallows hard and whispers, so low that Thompson has to strain to hear the man’s voice.

“I was looking for a place to bury his bones.”

Silence fills the air.

Thompson doesn’t know what to say…He’s dealt with serial killers, rapists and all sorts of sick people that would make a grown man scared to leave his home but not Thompson. Thompson was desensitized to it all but right now he feels like it’s his first day on the job. Maybe it was because for a year this man was his best friend. This man tucked him in when he couldn’t even walk past the bar doors. Had his beer ready every night and listened to all his troubles. At any moment this man could have killed him. There’s something about Tord that’s…unnatural. The way you would never think he could be capable of the awful things he’s done. Thompson feels like he’s talking to the devil himself.

Tord laughs sharply and it makes Thompson jump. So it was a joke? Damn it. Thompson should have known better. Tord was trying to scare him. The Sheriff rolls his good eye but Tord shakes his head as his laughter grows louder, “Did I scare you, my love? You’re perspiring!” Thompson wants to laugh himself but he refuses to let other man have the satisfaction. He lets out a sigh of relief. He’s gonna need a couple strong ones after this. Tord’s laugh starts to soften and soon an evil grin takes place, “I planted his favorite flowers right above his grave.” 

“That’s enough. I’d spend my last moments quietly if I were you.” Thompson runs his hands through his hair. Tord leers at him, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought you should hear that. You, out of all people, should know that there are consequences to our actions.” It takes a moment but then it registers to Thompson that Tord just called him “my love.”

“What did you just call me-“

“We seem to have a dilemma, Thompson. We can’t exactly be together if I’m 6ft under, right?”

Thompson remains speechless and something is telling him to get as far away as possible. He has to resist. He can’t let this bastard terrorize him.

Tord sighs, “What should we do, love?”

“The joke ain’t funny no more Dahling.”

Tord shakes his head and tsks, “I wasn’t joking and I’m not letting you go so easily.” A chill runs down Thompson spine. Tord smiles sweetly, “I told you that story because I wanted to tell you something about myself. You’re always so generous to share your own past with me…I felt it was about time since we’ll be leaving soon. I was going to tell you the other night to pack but I was so nervous. I kept pacing outside your door and every time you came down, I panicked and hid.” 

Thompson’s heart stops and he almost leaves his body as he recalls the night before. He wasn’t losing his mind. Tord stands up, “I knew you were the right one when I didn’t even have to knock and you still knew I was there. You were opening the door for me. You were ready to let me in, weren’t you?”

Tord gets up and head towards the bars. Thompson reaches for the gun on his desk, “SIT DOWN!” He shouts. His hand finds nothing and Tord pulls out something from behind him. Thompson quickly looks to his desk and the pistol is gone. What Dahling pulls out is the Sheriff’s own weapon. He searches frantically for his other one. The fear is starting to rise with each step the other takes. The cell door is gently pushed open and Tord glides out like a demon. How did he get the key?!?! How long had the Sheriff been asleep?!?! Thompson gets up to reach for his emergency shotgun that should be mounted on the wall behind him. 

That’s when he sees a ring on his finger that wasn’t there before.

The shotgun has gone missing too. Thompson slowly turns back to the monster coming towards him. “I’m not going to hurt you my darling! Please! Come here!” Tord opens his arms wide and Thompson runs to the door but several men are blocking it from the outside. 

Tord was alone during the robbery. 

He really did intend to be caught. 

Sheriff Thompson should have known. Dahling isn’t the type to stupidly attempt a heist alone.

The lamp goes off and the only thing that provides light now is the moon shining through the dirty window panes. Thompson remains facing the door, paralyzed in fear. Tord gets right behind him and leans in so close that his lips touch the shell of Thompson’s ear, “Because after all…“ Tord’s voice is low and sinister and Thompson can feel his evil grin. 

“You are the second Mr. Dahling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "The First Mrs. Jones" by Bill Anderson.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSSkXGH8mNs


End file.
